Megan
Back at the dorm that afternoon, I heard the sink running in the bathroom. Given that my roommate remained seated at her desk studying with her earbuds firmly in her ears, totally ignoring me, it had to be one of my suitemates.
I walked to the door that led to the sink area and stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
The girl’s dark hair was cut in a short, choppy style that looked ridiculously cute on her. She was petite, with delicate features and long eyelashes. Her gaze met mine in the mirror. “Hey, there,” she said. “You the new suitemate?”
“That’s me,” I said. “My name’s Morgan.”
She turned to dry her hands on a towel. “I’m Paige McQuaid.”
“It’s great to meet you. I just moved to Fort Worth and I don’t know many people here yet.”
Her lips curved in a self-assured smile. “Well, you’ve met the right person. I know everybody around here.”
I returned the smile. “Good to know.” Already, I could peg Paige as the queen bee type, an alpha female, the kind of confident, powerful girl who could be your best friend or your worst enemy, or sometimes even both at the same time.
My roommate’s voice cried out from our room. “Don’t leave me alone with this dog!”
I rolled my eyes.
Paige tilted her head. “You’ve got a dog in there?”
“Yeah.” I waved a hand. “Want to meet her?”
“Definitely!”
Paige followed me into my room and I motioned for Brigit to come over. She hopped down from the bed and stretched on the rug.
“Her name’s Britney,” I said.
Paige dropped to her knees and put her hands on either side of Brigit’s neck. “Hello, Britney! You look like a sweetie pie.”
A dog lover? Paige and I were going to get along just fine. One look at the bliss on Brigit’s face as Paige scratched and petted her and it was clear my partner felt the same way.
Paige looked up at me. “How’d you get permission to have a dog?”
“I have epilepsy,” I said, the lie rolling off my tongue more easily with each iteration. “She gives me a warning when I’m about to have a seizure.”
“She can tell that?”
I nodded. “Apparently I give off signals that even I don’t notice. But she can.”
“Cool.” She released Brigit and stood. “My roommate and I were about to go to dinner. Wanna come with?”
“That would be great.” I motioned to the back of my roommate, who had yet to turn around. She had yet to tell me her name, too. “Should we invite her?” I whispered.
Paige’s face contorted in a grimace. She stuck out her tongue and shook her head.
I formed an “okay” sign with my thumb and index finger. Message received. I grabbed my ID card and Brigit’s leash and we headed back through the bathroom to Paige’s room on the other side.
Lounging on one of the twin beds was a girl with mocha skin and bronze hair cut in a sleek, angular style. Paige pointed to her roommate and me in turn. “Morgan, Alexa. Alexa, Morgan.” She then pointed down to Brigit. “That’s Britney.”
Alexa sat bolt upright, a broad smile jumping to her lips. “A dog?” She tossed her history book aside, rolled off the bed, and came over. “It’s okay if I pet her, right?”
“She’d love it.”
She reached out a hand to let Brigit sniff her and, when Brigit looked up at her in approval, ran her hand over the dog’s head and neck. “She’s so soft and shiny!”
“It’s her shampoo,” I said. Of course I left out the additional fact that I, too, used the peach-scented flea shampoo on my own hair to keep it just as soft and shiny. In fact, I’d scrounged one of Frankie’s empty shampoo bottles out of the recycle bin and filled it with the flea shampoo to bring here. Couldn’t have these girls figuring out my secret. It would be too embarrassing.
Paige stepped to the door. “Morgan’s going down to dinner with us. C’mon, Alexa.”
Something flickered across Alexa’s face, something that told me she didn’t much appreciate her roommate speaking to her in the same way I spoke to my dog. That could be the problem with queen bee types. They were great leaders, but they tended to talk down to their subjects. A split second later, though, the smile was back on Alexa’s face and we were out the door.
I ordered Brigit to stay at a table we chose near the window, grabbed an unsweetened tea, and fixed myself a salad at the dining hall’s salad bar. Paige and Alexa joined me at the table a moment later, both of them carrying slices of pepperoni pizza and cups of soda.
Paige eyed my meal as she set her plate down on the table, her cell phone next to it. “You some kind of health nut?”
“I guess you could say that,” I replied.
“Not me,” she said. “I run on pizza and truffle fries.”
“They serve truffle fries here in the dining hall?” I asked.
Paige scoffed. “I wish.”
Zzzzt. Paige’s phone sounded with an incoming text, the screen indicating someone identified as Chaoxiang had sent her a message. She picked up her phone, smiling softly as her gaze ran over the words on the screen. She used her thumbs to type in a quick reply, pushed the button to turn her phone off, and returned it to the table, taking a bite of her pizza.
As we dug into our dinner, I asked the two what they were studying.
“Political science,” Paige said.
“Me, too!” I said. “Were you planning on going to Essie Espinoza’s rally Wednesday night?”
“Only to check out the competition.”
Competition? “What do you mean?”
“I intern at Senator Sutton’s local office.”
Impressive. Also, cause for concern. If she’d been with his entourage at the Fourth of July event, she might have seen me there and eventually recognize me and Brigit as the K-9 team who’d been up on the stage.
“Wow,” I said. “How’d you get a job in a senator’s office?”
Alexa chimed in now. “Is it called a job if it’s unpaid? Or is it called volunteering?”
Paige cut a raw look at her roommate. “Hardly any internships pay anymore. Students do them for the experience, not the money.” She turned back to me now. “I got the job,” she said, emphasizing the word, “because my grades are really good. I’ve made the dean’s list every semester so far.”
I broached the subject in what I hoped was a subtle manner. “Senator Sutton’s the politician who spoke at Panther Pavilion last week, right? At the Fourth of July event?”
“That’s him,” she replied. “My parents know him from the club.”
“The club?”
“Timarron Country Club,” she said, “in Southlake.”
Southlake was one of the most exclusive Fort Worth suburbs, sitting about twenty miles northeast of the city. The average home price hovered just under nine hundred thousand dollars. In Texas, where houses were relatively inexpensive compared to the rest of the country, that kind of money got you an awful lot in the way of square footage and custom upgrades and gates to keep out the riffraff.
“Is that where you’re from?” I asked. “Southlake.”
Paige’s mouth full of pizza now, she merely nodded in return.
“Did you go to Panther Pavilion on the Fourth to hear Senator Sutton speak?” I mentally crossed my fingers that she’d tell me she hadn’t been there.
“No,” she said. “I have better things to do on my day off than hang around with my coworkers. They’re all like forty or fifty years old and the only thing they want to talk about is their kids or their lawns or their arthritis.”
Relief relaxed me and I felt my shoulders loosen of their own accord. “Interning for a senator must still be exciting, though, getting to work on big issues and meet important people.”
“Meh,” she replied. “I had way more fun working the purse counter at Macy’s last summer. All of the exciting stuff happens in his Washington, D.C., office. His local office handles all the routine work. They’ve got me responding to his e-mails. People only write in to bitch about things.” She mimicked his constituents. “Social Security doesn’t pay enough for me to live on. All these wars cost too much. China’s taken all of our manufacturing jobs, do something about it.” She rolled her eyes. “Get a life, people.”
With that kind of attitude, she might have been better off majoring in something other than political science. In fact, I wondered how she’d chosen her major and asked as much. “So you’re majoring in poli sci why, then?”
“That’s a good question.” She plucked a pepperoni off her pizza. “I couldn’t make up my mind when I started college so I took one of those aptitude tests. It told me I’m a people person and suggested I go into public service, nursing, or sales. Blood makes me squeamish, so nursing is definitely out, but sometimes I think maybe I should change my major to marketing. There’s so many restrictions in politics. You can’t say this, you can’t do that.” Another eye roll. “Ugh!”
Her rant complete, she stuck out her tongue and dropped the pepperoni on it as if it were a communion wafer. I was tempted to give her an “amen.” Instead, I steered the conversation onto a more relevant topic, for me, anyway. “My roommate said something about the girl who lived there before me doing drugs?”
Alexa cringed. “Yeah. She took some bad Molly.”
Paige plucked another pepperoni off her pizza. “I don’t think the Molly was bad. I think she just didn’t know how to prepare for using it.”
Aha! So this girl knew something about the drug. “Prepare for it?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”
She waved the pepperoni around. “You know. Like making sure she was hydrated and all that.”
“Does that help? Drinking water?”
“Supposedly,” she said. “I mean, I don’t do that kind of thing, so I can’t personally say. But you hear stuff.”
What do you hear? I wanted to ask. And from who? But I knew I had to be subtle or risk giving myself away. “Do a lot of people here do Molly?”
Paige shrugged. “As much as any other college, I guess. Most people just drink if they’re looking to party.”
“Do you drink?” I asked.
Paige and Alexa exchanged glances before Paige answered for them. “We’re only nineteen. We’re not old enough to drink.” She punctuated her words with a snort. “So of course we do it!” She laughed out loud now.
Alexa joined her. “What’s the harm in a beer or two?”
“Or ten,” Paige replied, which led to more laughter.
“Where do you get it?” I asked.
“Parties, mostly,” Paige said.
“Do you go to a lot of parties?” I asked.
“Pretty much every weekend,” Paige said, slightly smug with pride at her popularity.
“Take me with you sometime?” I pleaded. “I’d love to have some fun and meet people.”
She cocked her head. “Guys, maybe?”
“Sure,” I said. “If you know any cute ones.” A twinge of guilt puckered my gut. If I went to any parties with these girls, I’d be sure to wear the granny panties Seth had foisted on me.
“Speaking of guys,” Paige said, her gaze shifting to somewhere behind me and narrowing, “there’s Logan.”
I turned to see a ginger-haired boy heading our way, a smile on his face. With his chiseled features, nice build, and preppy dress, he looked like he’d stepped out of a J. Crew ad.
“Not bad,” I said, wagging my brows.
Paige’s lip curled back in disgust. “Before you take off your panties, you should know he spent spring break with hookers in Vegas. He brought home crabs and herpes as a souvenir.”
I gagged on my drink and was still coughing when Logan stepped up to the table.
“Hi, ladies,” he said, his voice oozing sex as he shamelessly looked me up and down. “Who’s your new friend with the dog?”
“Morgan,” Paige snapped before I could respond. “And she doesn’t date diseased losers like you, so fuck off.”
Despite the harsh language, Logan remained unfazed, even chuckling. “Such dirty talk for such a pretty girl. You give Senator Sutton blow jobs with that mouth?”
“Ew!” If I’d had my police baton with me, I probably would’ve hit the guy on reflex.
Logan eyed Paige intently. “You know you want me, Paige. When will you just admit it?”
She scoffed. “What part of ‘fuck off’ did you not understand?”
He chuckled again, taking us all in with his sweeping gaze. “Later, ladies.”
Once he’d stepped away, Paige let out a groan. “I can’t believe I ever had a crush on that loser.”
I cast a glance his way as he aimed for the pizza counter. “You did?”
“Beginning of freshman year,” she admitted. “Before I realized what a man-whore he is.”
As we continued eating, I glanced around the room, noting a girl with wavy red hair. Could she be Ruby Ruthswohl, the girl I suspected had been with Miranda Hernandez at Panther Pavilion? It was possible. She was about the same size as the girl I’d seen and looked similar to the photos of Ruby I’d seen on Facebook. She was dressed casually in jeans, a tank top, and flip-flops, with a trendy and expensive Kate Spade backpack-style purse on her back.
“Do either of you know the redhead by the soda machine?” I asked. If they did, I could ask whether they’d ever seen her with Miranda.
They both glanced toward the girl.
Alexa shook her head in response.
Paige said, “No, I don’t know her. Why?”
Yeah, Morgan. Why? “She looks sort of familiar. I thought maybe I knew her from somewhere. She might be in one of my classes.” I changed the subject again. “Are y’all staying in the dorm this fall, too?”
“I am,” Alexa said.
“Not me,” Paige replied. “No offense, but I’m tired of sharing a room and bathroom. I’m going to start looking for apartments soon.”
Honestly, I couldn’t blame her. I knew from experience that dorm life could get old pretty quickly. You had no control over your space, little privacy, and all manner of roommate issues ranging from dirty panties on the floor to theft of laundry money. Plus, having lived in Southlake, she’d likely had a large bedroom and bath all to herself growing up.
We chatted amiably for the rest of the meal before Paige begged off to go meet a study group and Alexa excused herself to do some reading for her literature class. I decided to take Brigit on a sniffing tour of the dorm and identify rooms on which she alerted to drugs. The campus police could give me the names of the students in the rooms, enabling me to narrow down my search for the Molly dealer. Of course Brigit and I would have to be careful that it wasn’t obvious we were doing a drug sweep.
I started on the first floor, waiting until the hallway was clear before leaning down to whisper in her ear, issuing her the order to scent for illegal drugs. She put her nose to the ground and began sniffing around the bottoms of the doors as I led her down the hall. Unfortunately, she wasn’t exactly quiet as she sniffed. Snuffle-snuffle-snuffle. Snuffle-snuffle.
I was ten steps past a door when it whipped open behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see a shirtless boy sticking his head and shoulders out the door.
“That noise was a dog!” he called back to an unknown person inside the room.
“Sorry!” I said. “She likes to sniff. We’re new here and she’s checking everything out.”
He looked from Brigit to me, squinting as if trying to figure out what health issue I suffered from that allowed me to have a dog in the dorm. “Is that dog one of those emotional therapy dogs?”
“No,” I said. “She alerts me to impending seizures. I have epilepsy.”
“Oh,” he said. “Cool.” He raised a hand in good-bye before shutting his door.
We continued on. Brigit failed to alert at any of the doors. Looked like the first floor was clean.
I entered the stairwell and led Brigit up to the third floor, figured we’d tour our own floor last before heading back to our room. She alerted on two doors on the floor, sniffing around the threshold and sitting down in front of them. I made a quick note in my phone of the room numbers: 306 and 313. The fourth floor appeared clean, but she alerted to a door on the fifth: 518.
Rather than going back to the stairwell at the far end of the hall, I took the elevator down to the second floor, making my way up and down the hall with Brigit. Though she sniffed at each door along the hall, she alerted on none of them. I gave her a “good girl” and a liver treat and led her back to my room. As I ran the key through the skimmer, she sat and stared straight ahead. I glanced down at her, then did a double take when I realized she was giving her passive alert again. Holy crap! Could my rude roommate be the dealer?